Shock made me speechless for a second. Then, I croaked out, “Thanks, Abby.”
Corrigan rubbed his chin. “Vanderson claimed he was at a dinner party when Parker was killed. The alibi checked out. But okay, Abby and I will go back and question neighbors in Vanderson’s business condo building. Find out if anyone saw anything. Then we’ll go back to the others at that dinner party.” He gave me a half-smile. “Abby’s right. You did a good job.” Then he raised an eyebrow and out of the corner of his mouth, cracked, “Now don’t go off and confront Vanderson. You hear me?”
The man knew me too well. Evasiveness was my best option. “My immediate plans do not include talking to John Vanderson.” I couldn’t meet Corrigan’s eyes.
He harrumphed. “I’m supposed to be satisfied with that?”
Before I could form a snappy comeback, Abby threw up her hands and glared at Corrigan. “As fascinating as it is watching you two argue, let it go. She said she’ll stay away from him. Unless you want to put a tracking device on Claire, you have to take her word for it.” She combed her hair back with her fingers. “Frankly, I’m too tired for this and, Brian, I know you are too.”
My jaw dropped. Never could I have imagined Abby being on my side. Immediately, though, my suspicions were raised. What were her motives? It had to be more than a turkey on Thanksgiving. And I couldn’t stop my mind from wondering about them both being so tired. Still, for the second time that evening, I found myself thanking her.
Corrigan half-heartedly planted his hands on his hips. “Great. Two women ganging up on me.” He shook his head and then glanced at the time. “We better get back to the station, and put in for the canvassing. That’ll take a while.” He placed his hands on my shoulders and kissed me quickly. “Claire, I’m dead on my feet tonight. See you tomorrow evening?”
He looked so hound dog tired, I squelched my suspicions. The guy didn’t look like he had the energy to squeeze a tube of toothpaste let alone Abby.
“Yeah. Go home and get some sleep.”
Once they’d left, I sat on the sofa, scratching Charlie’s belly and wondering why the change in Abby’s attitude. With no answer popping in my head, I turned my thoughts to my assignment for Sam Bartola and his salami sandwich.
Maybe someday I’d have an assistant who could do these types of jobs. I chuckled to myself. Yeah, and that’ll be the same day Charlie starts talking.
I didn’t realize how tired I was until I turned the television on and found my eyelids drooping. It was only a quarter to ten, but my bed beckoned and I answered.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It was morning when I woke up and found the edge of my pillow in my mouth. I’d been dreaming it was a salami sandwich. Yuck.
After completing my morning duties, I first went into the office to get the location of the dominoes game. It took a lot of willpower not to open up Vanderson’s information and work on that. I resisted. With any luck Sam’s missing salami case would wrap up in one day and outside of the final invoice, I’d be able to bring my attention back to the Vandersons.
My next stop was to pick up the sandwich I’d requested from Aunt Lena, also figuring to grab breakfast at the same time.
It was only nine-thirty when I arrived at Cannoli’s, but my aunt had my salami sandwich ready. She wiped her hands on a towel and handed it to me.
It was a thing of beauty with its fragrant salami, ripe tomatoes, provolone cheese, and crisp lettuce, all encased in thick slices of fresh Italian bread. I wanted to eat it right then.
My aunt continued. “So tell me again what you’re using this for?”
I grabbed a chocolate cupcake and explained, “The sandwich is a decoy. I’m trying to catch whoever’s stealing my client’s food.”
She shook her head. “And you traded working here at Cannoli’s for cases like that?”
“At least I won’t get fat working as a PI. Thanks for the sandwich.” I kissed her ruddy cheek and headed to a former pizza take-out restaurant where Sam and his friends played.
The plan was for Sam to introduce me as an out-of-town niece who wanted to keep him company. I had my doubts anyone would fall for that story, but he insisted it’d work. “These guys are only interested in the dominoes.”
As arranged, we each arrived earlier than the rest of the players. The refrigerator was in a small kitchen in the back and that’s where we placed our sandwiches. Then we waited.
Two men soon filed in through the back door, Tony and Joe. Each had a brown bag which, I assumed, contained a sandwich. Mike was the last to arrive and the least friendly. I figured him for the salami thief.
The first hour passed without anybody stepping away from the four-man game. I made two trips back and forth to the kitchen for water. On the second trip, a white, brown and black fox terrier mix trotted in through the back door, which now sat ajar. It had a tag on its collar so it wasn’t a feral dog. It must have come from one of the nearby homes. How it opened the door, I didn’t know. It circled me, tail wagging, wanting to play. I scratched his belly once. Then I left the kitchen to see if one of the guys could escort the dog back home.
I was only two steps into the hallway when I realized I’d left my phone in the kitchen. I turned around. That’s when I saw the dog bite into the hand towel someone had wrapped around the door of the refrigerator and yank.
To my amazement, the door opened and that smart dog began leaping. On his second try, he reached the shelf where Sam had placed his sandwich. The dog pulled it down. With his teeth and paws he proceeded to unwrap Sam’s lunch and gobble the salami.
I blinked twice. That explained the salami being gone, but how did the sandwich get back into the refrigerator?
A kid no more than ten appeared. “Louie. Bad dog! You gotta stop doing that.” The boy stooped over, grabbed what was left of the sandwich, rewrapped it and placed it in the refrigerator. He began tiptoeing from the kitchen, the dog, tongue licking its mouth, in tow.
“Stop!” I stepped into the kitchen like a school guard ready to scold a speeding driver. “Your dog stole someone’s lunch.” The words sounded ridiculous. “What’s your name and why aren’t you in school?”
The child swallowed hard. “Tom Rinocci. It’s lunch period and I was taking Louie for a walk, but he got away. My older brother taught Louie how to turn doorknobs with his paws and now he comes here and gets in when the door’s unlocked. I’m sorry. Louie’s sorry, I know he is.” The kid hung his head, but the dog didn’t look the least bit remorseful.
Our voices must have carried enough to interrupt the dominoes game and the four men traipsed into the kitchen. The first thing Sam did was open the refrigerator and unwrap his sandwich.
Holding two mangled pieces of bread, he pointed at the boy and scowled. “You’ve been stealing my salami!”
I stepped between the two. “He hasn’t. His dog has.” I explained what I’d seen and heard. When I was finished, Sam looked down at the dog that was smart enough to give him a big sad, I’m-so-sorry look.
Sam’s expression softened. “What’s your dog’s name?”
“Louie.” Louie’s tail wagged. “Mister, he likes you.”
Sam bent down to scratch the clever dog. “I always was a sucker for a friendly mutt. What the hell? Next time I’ll bring enough salami for you and me, pal.”
With this mystery solved and Sam’s pals no wiser to my reason for being there, I donated my sandwich to Sam and was on my way back to the office.
Driving there, I did wonder if I could teach Charlie that trick of opening the refrigerator door with a towel. I imagined lying on the sofa, exhausted, and him bringing me a diet pop and maybe even a brownie I’d stored on the fridge’s bottom shelf.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I’d finished invoicing Sam when the sound of my office door opening and closing made me pause.
“Be right with you.” I rose from my desk, realizing for the twentieth time how badly I needed a receptionist. When I reached the front, I skidded
to a stop.
The man confronting me looked familiar. He was one of Michael Bucanetti’s henchmen and unfortunately, my gun was tucked inside my purse.
I had no doubt he was here because of my delving into his prostitution business, but I played dumb. “What do you want?”
“Mr. Bucanetti wants you to know none of his girls had anything to do with no murders. For you and your family’s safety, drop it. Understand?”
Unable to speak because I was concentrating on keeping my knees from buckling, I nodded.
“Good.” He smiled, but even that looked threatening. “Have a nice day.” With that he left, closing the door softly behind him.
I plopped onto the nearest chair and glanced down at my trembling hands. Even the thought of an entanglement with Bucanetti turned my insides into polenta. Or grits, as it’s known in the South. I took a few deep breaths to calm myself. One day, if the law couldn’t find a way to take him down with this prostitution ring, I’d get Bucanetti.
It took me a while before I was able to get back to the Vanderson case, but when I did, I thought of something that could link John Vanderson to Parker’s murder. Although I hated to do it, I returned to the assisted living facility with one more question for Ethel.
Except for that earlier visit from Bucanetti’s guy, it was turning out to be my lucky day. Ethel was dragging herself out of the assisted living facility. She looked ready to drop.
When she spotted me, she sunk a bit lower. “Sorry to bother you again, Ethel.”
She shook her head. “Great. I just finished an extra shift because we were short-staffed and now you again.”
“One quick question. Did you notice any glitter or sparkling on the guy in the leather coat?”
She glared at me. “I don’t know! It wasn’t as if I stared at him. Now, leave me alone.”
Stepping back, I watched her hobble away. Once she was gone, I returned to my car to warm up and make a call.
Corrigan didn’t answer, but Harold did. “I’ve got a question for you, Harold. Did the police check Trish for glitter from the snow globe?”
“Yes, they did. Unfortunately, those specks stick to everything, including the other pieces of trash. Trish was doubly unfortunate because she’d thrown something out and rubbed against the trash cover. Hence, glitter. But we’ll argue accessibility to her trash. Collin, the maid, etc.”
A tiny niggle of hope began in my gut. “And maybe John Vanderson?”
Harold didn’t exactly answer my question. “You should find out. After all, you’ve been hired to solve Parker’s murder.”
I hated to admit it, but he was right. “I’ll let you know.”
“Great. Now, if you could find out who really killed Jennifer Nelson and Collin Slater, we’d be in good shape.”
Feeling stretched beyond my ability, I snapped back, “You’re making the big lawyer bucks. Hire somebody!” Immediately I regretted my words. “Sorry. All the murders are linked. I just need one thread.” Yeah, and like a sweater, pull on that thread and everything unravels.
When the call ended, I acknowledged that I’d just been postponing the inevitable, confronting John Vanderson. I found it hard to believe he’d killed his own son, but perhaps he’d witnessed it, or caused it.
I grabbed my coat and purse with my gun inside, and what little courage I possessed. I’d need all of it to confront Vanderson. At least I could do so at his office. It’d be harder to hide my battered body. He couldn’t exactly dump me in the waste can. Or could he?
Among the many challenges in this case, was getting in to see John Vanderson without an appointment. Upon entering his office, I was coldly informed by his administrative assistant that her boss was tied up in off-site meetings all day and would not be available the rest of the week.
Skeptical, I thought of busting through the conference room doors but that could create more problems. I had no desire to bruise myself and then be escorted out by security. I retreated, thinking that I’d unload what I’d learned onto Corrigan. His badge could open doors that were closed to me. Of course, once again my call went to his voicemail.
Weary of beating my head against so many walls, instead of returning to the office, I decided to go home and feed my wounds with whatever was in my freezer.
After walking Charlie and scarfing down some leftover manicotti my father had given me, I decided to take my mind off my failure by teaching Charlie how to open the refrigerator with his mouth.
After eight unsuccessful attempts, in which Charlie pulled the towel off the door and ran with it, he started to get the hang of it. But once he got the refrigerator door opened, he just stared at the practically empty shelves. I didn’t blame him. Aside from a chunk of dried-out mozzarella cheese and two diet pops, there was really nothing in there worth taking.
I gave Charlie a treat for his good job and then grabbed one of the sodas. Together, we sank into the sofa. I flicked on the television, needing to clear my head. I clicked through the channels until finding the news. That’s when my thumb froze on the remote.
There was Ethan Clarke discussing his interview with Trish. A chill extended through my entire body when he claimed he was also delving into the murder of Jennifer Nelson with ‘a certain private investigator.’
When he had finished his interview, I turned off the television and sat there with my head in my hands. The idiot reporter had just covered me with a red cape and set me in front of that bull named John Vanderson.
Not ten minutes later, my phone rang. Corrigan.
“So, now you’re working with that reporter? Claire, he’s bad news.”
To deflect his concern, I joked, “Oh, if that’s a pun, it’s a terrible one.”
He blew out a breath. “This isn’t funny. He could put you in danger and live to do an interview about it.”
I swallowed hard, hoping to banish my fear. “So does that mean you’re thinking maybe you’ve arrested two of the wrong Vandersons? That maybe you should have arrested John for Jennifer’s murder and maybe even Parker’s?”
“No. John has alibis we aren’t able to break.”
“Oh, come on, Brian! Those alibis stand up about as well as pudding. Candi is either lying or he’s fooled her into believing he was there all night. And what’s to have stopped him from slipping out of that dinner party the night Parker died? Anyway, who has a dinner party that goes until early morning?”
He sighed. “We’re still looking into those things. The guy is powerful with lots of money and influential friends. He’s used to getting his way. Let us handle him.”
That stiffened my backbone. “Oh, and my surviving Bucanetti over and over doesn’t prove to you that I can do this? Or are you just afraid Vanderson will sue the city?”
“That was different. We knew for sure what Bucanneti was up to. Don’t forget, we still have an eyewitness seeing Marlene Vanderson fleeing the scene. And yeah, he could make a big stink, so we have to use kid gloves.”
We weren’t getting anywhere and I was tired of us always butting heads. “Okay, I promise not to do anything that might cause a lawsuit, including talking to Ethan Clarke ever again. Satisfied?” That still allowed me to pursue Parker’s killer.
“Yes. Claire, it’s not that I don’t believe you’re competent. I do. Hell, you’re more than competent. But this case involves so many rich, high-up people, there can’t be any fumbling.”
Fatigued though I was, no way could I let that pass. “Does that include arresting two innocent people?”
Growling under his breath, he said, “I’ve gotta get back to work. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Sure. I love you.”
“Me too.”
The call ended, I again plopped down on my sofa, too drained to do much more than pet Charlie.
After twenty minutes of that, I’d had enough wallowing and decided to go back into the office. Today was Tuesday. Thanksgiving was in two days. It’d be great if I could enjoy the holiday without thinking of Trish and her mo
ther under a cloud.
When I got ready to leave for the office, Charlie began to whimper. Poor pup had been alone so often, I decided to take him with me. I grabbed his crate and some of his toys and off we went.
Chapter Twenty-Six
It was already three-thirty when we got to my office. I grabbed a cup of tea and, just to see if Charlie could do what I’d hoped I’d taught him, I wrapped the only towel I had, one about the size of a bath towel, around the refrigerator handle and opened his crate. Despite my encouragement, he merely glanced at it and instead went to work gnawing on a rawhide toy. I shook my head at Charlie. As much as I loved my pup, he’d never make it as a service dog.
I walked over to my computer to research what other public places Vanderson frequented. Talking to him in private was too risky. He got me quaking just being in the same vicinity as him.
There was a lot of information about him, which restaurants he frequented, what country club he belonged to, and so on. But I needed to know where he was now. Where was that meeting he supposedly was attending?
A break came my way with one article about the office space and condo Vanderson owned near the airport for out-of-town visitors. My instinct told me he was there, so I was coaxing Charlie back into his crate when I heard my office door open.
I stood from my crouched position in the kitchen and began to step into my office. “Be with you in a min—”
“No need to rush, Ms. DeNardo.” It was John Vanderson. “I understand you’ve been looking for me. Well, here I am.” He smiled but there was no humor in it.
At that moment, Charlie dashed out of the open crate and crashed to a halt, growling at Vanderson. It seemed my dog was less afraid of offending the man than Corrigan.
Vanderson glanced at Charlie and he stiffened. “Perhaps it’d be best if the dog weren’t here so we could talk undisturbed.”
No way was I at this time going to put Charlie in his crate. Maybe Vanderson was afraid of dogs. In which case, it’d be best to keep Charlie nearby.
Murder and Mozzarella Page 17
